Roped (Gail McCarthy Mysteries) by Laura Crum Page A

staring down at her cup of coffee, and I studied the neat, definite features under the blond curls. If Lisa was creating a stalker out of thin air, it pointed at a paranoia as extreme as the acts would be psychotic-if they were real. If Tim was Lisa's stalker, he was a very sick person, and if Lisa was making the stalker up, she was pretty dam sick herself. Neither scenario was pleasant to contemplate.
    Tim took a long swallow of coffee, winced, and put a hand to his jaw. "Old Tony Alvarez was kind of upset," he said to the room at large.
    "Who else got involved?" I asked him.
    "Oh, Ralph, and Danny Bell."
    "Not Sonny Santos?"
    Lisa's head jerked up at the question; her eyes shot to her brother's face.
    "Nah." Tim shook his head. "That bastard was gone before it happened. Had one drink and then left. Probably hoping for a glimpse of Lisa."
    Nobody said anything.
    "There was one funny thing, though," Tim went on slowly. "When Tony jumped on me it was no more than what I expected, and I wasn't surprised when Ralph and Danny joined in. I was sure getting the worst of it, though. Some of the other guys were trying to pull them off, but I could hear this big voice yelling, 'Let 'em fight.'
    "People were yelling back, saying these guys were killing me, and by then I was just sort of rolling around, taking one punch after another. Finally they got Ralph and Danny pulled off, but Tony was coming back in for more, and I could still hear this voice yelling, 'Let 'em fight.'
    "And suddenly it got to me. That was Al's voice. I looked up-even as out of it as I was, it shocked me enough to wake me up-and Al was looking down at me and smiling. Shit, he never smiles. He saw me look at him and his face closed down right away, but I saw that smile. He looked like he was gloating. I couldn't believe it. Hell, that bastard hates me. I don't know why.
    "Then I started thinking about all this shit that's been happening, and how Lisa keeps saying it's not accidents. And I can't get the idea out of my mind. What if it's Al?"
    Lisa and I stared at Tim. What she was thinking I didn't know. I wondered whether Tim was telling the truth or trying to cast suspicion on someone else. Either way, I didn't like it. A tangle of dark emotions seemed to be gathering around the Bennett family, and I felt inextricably caught in the net.
    Lisa jumped to her feet. "Come on, let's go on down to the barn. Dad must be ready by now."
    Tim and I followed her out the door. I felt a sudden intense worry about Glen. Where was he? Was he all right?
    We piled into Tim's green truck, Joey and Rita jumped in the back, and Tim rattled off down the road. "What's the number six for?" I asked him, trying to break the mood.
    Tim laughed. "Oh, I call her Sixball," he said, slapping the dashboard, " 'cause she's the same color as a six ball. Somebody painted the sixes on the doors one night while I was playing pool in the Saddlerack. I never did find out who did it. Everyone knows I call her that."
    Another prank, I thought, but a playful one this time. At the moment, I'd had enough of pranks, of any kind. That was the trouble with these little, tiny communities. Everyone knew everyone else, and in these quiet towns there wasn't a lot to do but mind your neighbors' business. It was the main form of entertainment. And it sometimes made for a lot of trouble and unpleasant gossip. But stalking?
    Tim passed the big house, which sat quiet in the morning sunshine. Joyce's midnight blue Cadillac was parked in the driveway. Glen's truck was nowhere in sight. Tim kept going.
    Then we were down the hill and the barnyard and roping arena were ahead. We could all see Glen, saddling Smoke, who was tied to the hitching rail. Everything seemed normal. I could feel Lisa let out a small sigh next to me.
    Business was as usual at the Bennett Ranch. Forgetting my worries, I regarded the cluster of old buildings and corrals with pleasure. The barnyard, like Lisa's house, dated from the ranch's early days;